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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579301">something’s lost but something’s gained in living every day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsaebyeok/pseuds/silentsaebyeok'>silentsaebyeok</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cobra Kai Season 3 Missing Moments [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Carmen Diaz is an amazing mom and a strong woman, Character study with a plot, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Johnny is trying his very best to be supportive, Mental Health Issues, Miguel is allowed to feel angry about what happened to him, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rehabilitation, Whump, ableist language because Johnny, do not copy to another site, misuse/abuse of prescription medication, recovery is not linear no matter how much the show wants to portray it that way, watch me try and add a little medical realism to a show that threw science out the window</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:46:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29579301</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsaebyeok/pseuds/silentsaebyeok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Everything had been taken from him. Everything that mattered. School, the daily connection with his peers, karate, the ability to do basic things like get a glass of water without expending all his energy. Everything about his life had changed, and his friends were so oblivious to it all. They didn’t understand it. They couldn’t even if they tried.</i><br/><br/>Or, Miguel struggles mentally in the wake of his injury. Carmen and Johnny do their best to help him. </p>
<p>Set between 3x6 and 3x7. Canon compliant.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Carmen Diaz &amp; Johnny Lawrence, Carmen Diaz &amp; Miguel Diaz (Cobra Kai), Miguel Diaz &amp; Johnny Lawrence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Cobra Kai Season 3 Missing Moments [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2186826</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>34</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>something’s lost but something’s gained in living every day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title of this fic comes from the song “Both Sides Now” by Joni Mitchell.<br/>--<br/>Hello, everyone!</p>
<p>The reason I decided to set this piece between 3x6 and 3x7 is because I feel like there is a little bit of a time jump between those two episodes. Indicating the passage of time is something this show struggles a bit with, but I’m going to assume the time jump between these two episodes was <i>at least</i> a few weeks. This is primarily for my own sanity lol. </p>
<p>I was super caught off guard by Miguel standing for the first time at the end of 3x6, but then 3x7 begins with him walking with crutches and doing a little “obstacle course.” Obviously, this show isn’t realistic at all, but that big of a leap in his recovery that quickly is just too much for me lol. So I have to make myself <i>assume</i> it was at least a few weeks of getting the hang of standing and building some muscle mass before he could walk at all. </p>
<p>This fic is set toward the very beginning of that imagined time period. At this point, Miguel cannot stand without help, and he cannot stand for long periods of time either. He also cannot walk yet. My decisions regarding his physical injures comes from the stubborn part of me that cannot stand medical inaccuracies in media, and oh boy, is season 3 filled with medical inaccuracies. Don’t get me started lol. </p>
<p>ANYWAY, that’s enough yapping from me. I’ll let the fic speak for itself. Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Falling. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Falling.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Falling. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Please come back to us. We’re right here.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Confusion. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Fear. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Falling. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I hope you can hear me, mijo.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Plunging down. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Stomach in throat. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Time enough to think about death.   </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“I thought I was helping you. You were learning so fast, getting so strong.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Instantaneous. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Only seconds, but feels like hours. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Plummeting. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Miggy, it’s Mamá. I love you so much, my baby.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Artificial wind, against gravity. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Death. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Is this how it comes? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Hey, buddy. Sorry I haven’t been here. Your mom hasn’t wanted me around. Can’t blame her.”</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Down.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Down.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Down.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“But I failed you. I’m so sorry.”</em>
</p>
<p>Miguel shot awake, gasping for breath, chest heaving. He looked around blearily, body trembling as he took in the sight before him. The sight of his dark bedroom. The feel of his old twin bed underneath him. The lingering smell of <em>seco de carne</em> from dinner the night before.</p>
<p>And once he realized where he was, it took a moment to calm down. To get ahold of himself. To figure out what had happened.</p>
<p>A nightmare. A nightmare happened.</p>
<p>He couldn’t remember the last time he had a nightmare. And maybe he’d never had one before. Because this felt like hell. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest, and he wasn’t sure if the contents of his stomach would stay where they were supposed to be.</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, he reached a trembling hand towards his nightstand, groping for his phone in the dark. The bright light burned his eyes as he turned it on. It was only 5:07 a.m.</p>
<p>Ugh. Too early.</p>
<p>But he knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Not like this.</p>
<p>Because his head was loud now. Really loud.</p>
<p>Miguel sat up and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He didn’t want to start the day this way. He didn’t want thoughts like: <em>I almost died,</em> and <em>Robby almost killed me</em> to circle around in his head the way they’d been doing for the past few months.</p>
<p>A part of him felt frustrated. Because he didn’t even understand the nightmare, or dream or whatever it was. It didn’t make sense at all. The only thing that made sense was the way it made him feel. The way it handed him fear on a silver platter and forced him to take it. The way that falling sensation overtook him.</p>
<p>It wasn’t something he ever wanted to feel again. The feeling of weightlessness, flailing and out of control. The thoughts that ran through his head. Thoughts of inevitable death. The split second of thinking: <em>so,</em> <em>this is how I die.</em></p>
<p>It wasn’t something he would soon forget.</p>
<p>Although he desperately wished he could.</p>
<p>Sighing deeply, Miguel decided it was useless to lay around in the dark. He had to do something to get his mind out of this loop.</p>
<p>And he needed to get out of his bed, out of his room. He needed to move.</p>
<p>He leaned over and turned on the lamp on his nightstand. It wasn’t something he really used much before he got hurt, but it proved to be very useful when he couldn’t simply stand up, walk across the room, and turn on the light switch.</p>
<p>Because he needed to see what he was doing. Getting out of bed wasn’t an easy task anymore, it took time and patience that he didn’t feel like he had most days.</p>
<p>After making sure the wheels of his wheelchair were locked—something the occupational therapist at the hospital told him he couldn’t forget if he didn’t want the chair to get away from him—he began the process of transferring himself from the bed. He still wasn’t very good at it, and it was still an awkward process, even though he’d been practicing for a few months now.</p>
<p>He just wished he could walk again. He wished for it all day, every single day. And he was getting there. He was making progress. After all, it was just a few days ago that he stood for the first time. And even though—currently—he could only stand for a few seconds at a time, it was a victory well earned. One he was riding so high on, that the nightmare seemed to come out of nowhere and drop kick him in the face.</p>
<p>Miguel shook his head as he wheeled himself to the door and turned on the light. He needed to stop thinking about that stupid nightmare. He needed to put it behind him and shove it away. It was dumb anyway. A stupid thing to worry about. It was only a nightmare. He couldn’t let it throw off his whole day.</p>
<p>At the threshold to his bedroom door, he took a moment to decide if he should attempt to eat breakfast or not. After all, he didn’t really feel like eating even though he knew he needed to. His stomach was tied in knots from the nightmare, and he wasn’t sure if he would be able to keep food down.</p>
<p>Deciding he would skip breakfast and get ready for the day instead, he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face.</p>
<p>The bathroom was different since the accident, and he wouldn’t pretend like it was something he was okay with. Because it made him feel weak, feel different. Like he had to be catered to and helped with every little thing.</p>
<p>Because he did. He couldn’t do things like stand at the bathroom sink and brush his teeth like a normal person. Instead, his mom had to buy a tiny, little table with a wash basin to put in the bathroom. He remembered the day she bought it, excited she’d figured out the sink problem, only to realize the table was still a little too tall. And after schooling her disappointment and leaving the room, Miguel overheard her talking to Sensei about it on the other side of the door. The next day, the table was back, this time suspiciously shorter.</p>
<p>Miguel sighed. He couldn’t wait until he had enough strength to stand for long periods of time. Because then they could get rid of all this equipment that had to be put up around the house, all the stuff that constantly reminded him of his physical limitations.</p>
<p>Because everything was a process now. Every little thing took extra time and extra effort. It was exhausting both physically and mentally. And it made him feel like a hindrance to everyone around him. Like he was holding everyone back.</p>
<p>From what, he didn’t know, but he couldn’t deny the way being <em>like this</em> made him feel.</p>
<p>After finishing in the bathroom, he checked his phone. It was only 5:42. Ugh. Still way too early, even with the added time it took him to do such basic things.</p>
<p>Miguel wheeled back to his bedroom, pausing in the doorway and wondering what to do next. He couldn’t stay in here, that much he was certain of. He couldn’t sit around in his bedroom and think about the nightmare. He couldn’t let himself wallow in self-pity. He’d done far too much of that lately.</p>
<p>But he could do homework. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than sitting around with nothing to do until the sun came up. It was better than the silence that was trying to pull at him, trying to force him to think about things he absolutely didn’t want to confront.</p>
<p>Decisively grabbing his backpack off his desk, Miguel made his way to the kitchen. It was easier to do his homework at the kitchen table anyway. Because then he didn’t have to transfer to a chair—which wasn’t the hardest thing in the world, but it took effort regardless. One of the things he hated most about the wheelchair was all the places it didn’t fit, and one of those places was his bedroom desk. It was too wide for him to sit there properly.</p>
<p>It didn’t dawn on him that he was thinking about the logistics of being in a wheelchair until he pulled out his textbook and set it on the table with a thunk. Was this what his life had come to? Worrying about stupid shit that he shouldn’t have to care about?</p>
<p>Because he shouldn’t have to care. He shouldn’t.</p>
<p>But he did. Because Robby kicked him over that balcony, even though he showed the guy mercy. Even though he said he was sorry.</p>
<p>A hot, fiery anger came upon him then, burning through his insides and causing him scream out in frustration as he crumpled up the homework sheet in his hand. He couldn’t deal with this any longer! He couldn’t put up with the constant disappointment in himself anymore, the way he incessantly thought about all the things that were super, super hard. Things like getting dressed or getting a plate from the kitchen cabinets when he wanted a snack.</p>
<p>And he couldn’t stop himself from thinking this was all Robby’s fault. Sure, he’d been told it was an accident, but ultimately, Robby did this to him. Robby made it so he was awake at five in the morning from nightmares. Robby made it so picking up a dropped item off the floor was a process. Robby made it so he couldn’t go to—</p>
<p>“Miggy?” A voice said, pulling him out of his thoughts.</p>
<p>He looked up then, seeing his mom standing in front of him. A look of pure exhaustion on her face. A look of poorly hidden pity.</p>
<p>Miguel hated that look. He hated it with every fiber of his being. He hated the way everyone treated him like he was made of glass, like he would shatter into a million pieces if someone so much as looked at him wrong.</p>
<p>“What are you doing up so early, <em>mijo</em>?” She asked.</p>
<p>“Couldn’t sleep.” He said, averting his eyes and noticing Yaya’s rosary dangling precariously off the edge of the kitchen counter.</p>
<p>“I heard you cry out. Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>“Everything’s fine, Mamá. I’m—you should probably get some more sleep before you have to go into work.” Miguel said, moving his eyes to the tabletop and realizing his hand was still clenched around his crumpled-up homework sheet.</p>
<p>His mom sat down next to him then, gently taking the paper out of his hand and straightening it out on the table in front of him.</p>
<p>“Math homework?” She asked, staring at the sheet.</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>“You hate math, Miggy.” She said, affectionately brushing his hair out of his eyes. “And the homebound teacher won’t be here to help you with it until four, you know that.”</p>
<p>“I told you. I couldn’t sleep.”</p>
<p>She sighed, looking into his eyes in a way that made him feel exposed and uncomfortable. “Miguelito. You know you can always come to me, right? At any hour of the day.”</p>
<p>“I know, Mom.”</p>
<p>And then when the silence dragged on for a little too long, when the room stayed a little too still and neither of them moved, Miguel looked up at his mother.</p>
<p>It was something he wished he hadn’t done. Because her face looked weird. Off. Like she was studying him and lost in her thoughts at the same time.</p>
<p>It made him feel uncomfortable.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re okay?” She finally asked, eyebrows crinkled together in worry.</p>
<p>Miguel nodded, biting back the things he really wanted to say. Things like: <em>no, I’m not okay, </em>and<em> I don’t know how to deal with this anymore. </em></p>
<p>He wasn’t sure why he held back, why he didn’t want to tell her the truth. It wasn’t like she didn’t know anyway. She could always see right through him; she could read him like an open book. He couldn’t hide anything from his mom. Not ever.</p>
<p>“If you say so, <em>mijito</em>.”</p>
<p>And Miguel watched as she got up and headed back to her room, that exhausted look never leaving her face.</p>
<p>He was left alone in the resulting silence. Alone with his thoughts once more.</p>
<p>And suddenly, desperately, he wished she would have stayed.</p>
<p>Because he spent too much time in solitary company.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“Hold it, Diaz. You got this.”</p>
<p>Miguel felt his weak legs begin to shake uncontrollably; a sign he knew meant he was about to lose his battle with gravity.</p>
<p>“Hold it…hold it…hol—”</p>
<p>As he felt his knees buckle and his legs give out from underneath him, Miguel braced himself for impact, his body collapsing in a heap on the floor of Sensei Lawrence’s apartment.</p>
<p>Again.</p>
<p>“Ugh!” He groaned, shoving a fist into the carpet and letting the frustration overtake him as he flipped over and moved his uncooperative body into a sitting position. </p>
<p>“C’mon, Diaz. What’s the problem? That’s your sixth fall in less than twenty minutes.”</p>
<p>Miguel rolled his eyes. “Thanks for counting, Sensei.”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t have to if you kept yourself standing for more than a few seconds at a time.” Sensei said. “Seriously, kid. What’s the deal? You were doing great yesterday. And the day before that.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know.” Miguel answered, letting out a long breath. “It’s like…some days my body won’t cooperate with my brain.”</p>
<p>“Well, tell it to cooperate.” Sensei said matter-of-factly.</p>
<p>Miguel sighed. He explained his injury to Sensei a million times over the past few months, but he never seemed to understand the way it worked. He never seemed to understand that even with the surgery, his legs still had a difficult time receiving the messages from his brain. That even with all his progress, there were still days where he woke up and felt off. Like he had to think extra hard to get his legs moving.</p>
<p>“I am telling it to cooperate, Sensei. That’s the problem.” Miguel finally said, uninterested in explaining himself for the millionth time.</p>
<p>“Well, let’s just go a couple more times and then we can take a break.”</p>
<p>Miguel groaned. “Can we just be done?”</p>
<p>“What? You giving up?” Sensei asked, an admonishing look on his face.</p>
<p>Miguel rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to deal with Sensei’s bullshit today. He wasn’t in the mood. “No. I’m—look. I just feel stressed, okay? The homebound teacher is coming over soon, and I have to take this stupid math test I’m totally not ready for.”</p>
<p>And at his words, a disgusted and floored look came over Sensei’s face.</p>
<p>“They’re still making you take tests like this?” He said, gesturing to Miguel’s limp legs. “Can’t they just pass you for…you know, shitty circumstances?”</p>
<p>Miguel sighed. “I wish. Mr. Aziz—the history teacher—is pretty cool about it. He’s not making me do much of anything. But my math teacher is really concerned about me falling behind.”</p>
<p>“Well, that’s a bunch of bullshit.” Sensei said, rolling his eyes. “Who needs algebra anyway? I’ve never used that shit <em>once</em> since high school.”</p>
<p>“I’m actually in trigonometry.” Miguel replied, shrugging his shoulders.</p>
<p>“Triga—what?”</p>
<p>Miguel shook his head. Sometimes he wondered how Sensei graduated high school. “Just…never mind.”</p>
<p>“Okay. I think we’re done for today.” Sensei said after an awkward pause, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “C’mon. Let’s get you back in the chair.”</p>
<p>Miguel nodded, silently relieved that Sensei was willing to call it quits. There was something about waking up on the wrong side of the bed that made it hard for him to think about standing. Or moving his uncooperative lower half at all.</p>
<p>Because movement was something he had to think about now. Constantly think about. And on some days, days like today, it was more exhausting than it had any right to be. Because today was one of those days that he knew better than to try and tap his foot. Because he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He didn’t want to face the disappointment.</p>
<p>And he was worried about his math test. That wasn’t a lie. He hadn’t had the mindset to study at all lately, always becoming distracted with his racing thoughts every time he opened his textbooks.</p>
<p>He had the time to study, but he didn’t have the will. Even when he tried to force himself, he couldn’t go for more than thirty minutes without becoming distracted. But, he supposed, almost dying would do that to a person. Because it made him realize the pointlessness of it all. It made him realize that there were things he needed to figure out, to come to terms with, and his trig grade wasn’t one of those things.</p>
<p>Because it wasn’t life or death. Because it didn’t really matter.</p>
<p>At least, not right now. Not when he couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when there was so much heavy shit weighing on his mind, taking up the space that previously would be reserved for quadratic functions and term papers.</p>
<p>Why did anyone at the school think he would be able to focus anyway?</p>
<p>“Alright.” Sensei said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You ready to move to the chair?”</p>
<p>Miguel looked around then, realizing that Sensei had positioned his wheelchair behind him.</p>
<p>“I guess.” Miguel said.</p>
<p>This was the part he hated. The part that made him feel so helpless and stupid. Because what idiot couldn’t get up off the floor without someone there to help?</p>
<p><em>You’re making progress, Miguel. You’re getting there.</em> It was something he had to keep reminding himself of. It was the only way to keep the negative thoughts at bay. The only way to keep them behind the floodgates.</p>
<p>And even then, he sometimes didn’t succeed.</p>
<p>Because sometimes he thought, even with his progress, that he might never get back to normal. That he might never walk again. That this whole standing thing was where it would stop.</p>
<p>And at that moment, he remembered googling spinal cord injuries in the boredom of the hospital. A morose sense of curiosity taking over. He remembered reading, horrified, that some people who never healed could learn to stand if they had good balance and support.</p>
<p>It was a proposition that terrified him. Because what if that was him? What if that was how he would end up?</p>
<p>“On three.” Sensei said, wrapping his arms around his midsection. “One, two, three.”</p>
<p>And then Sensei was pulling him up, and Miguel did his best to situate his legs in the right position, to make it easier for him. After all, he didn’t exactly weigh ninety pounds.</p>
<p>“There you go.” Sensei said as Miguel situated his uncooperative legs on the footrests of his chair.</p>
<p>“Thanks, Sens—” Miguel said, cutting himself off when he began to feel the familiar burning sensation of pins and needles overtake his legs.</p>
<p>Looking down, he wasn’t surprised to find his legs shaking and spasming. It was a normal, if uncomfortable and very painful part of working hard to get back on his feet. The first time it happened, he’d completely freaked out, worried that he injured himself further. But after his mom made a frantic call to the doctor, he was assured it was a normal part of having a spinal cord injury, a good thing even. Because it was a sign he was making progress, a sign that he would regain at least some, if not all the function in his lower body.</p>
<p>“Oh, shit.” Sensei said, looking down at his legs. “Do you want me to go get the heating pad?”</p>
<p>“Um. Sure.” Miguel said, teeth clenched as he rubbed his hands over his thighs, trying to alleviate some of the pain.</p>
<p>Sensei nodded. “I’ll be right back.”</p>
<p>Over the past few months, he had figured out little tricks to help his nerve pain, and maybe it was just a way to distract his brain, but he was sure that rubbing his thighs helped at least a little bit. There was no denying that the heating pad was more helpful, though.</p>
<p>At first, the doctors prescribed him muscle relaxers to deal with the spasms he was having, but he hated the way they made him feel. Like he wasn’t in control of himself. Like he was too exhausted to care about anything. They didn’t work very well either, so he just stopped taking them, deciding to use the internet to figure out alternative ways to help alleviate the pain.</p>
<p>And one of the alternative ways that had been fairly successful was putting a heating pad on the highest setting and placing it directly on his legs.</p>
<p>Soon, Sensei was back with the heating pad he kept in his apartment just for him, plugging it into the wall and handing it over to him.</p>
<p>“Thanks.” Miguel said, gratefully taking it and placing it on his thighs.</p>
<p>Sensei’s eyebrows knit together, looking concerned. “You haven’t had this happen in a couple weeks, kid. What’s the problem? I didn’t even push you very hard today.”</p>
<p>“I told you, I’m stressed about school. The doctor said stress can cause sp—”</p>
<p>“Miguel.” Sensei began, cutting him off and crouching down to his level to look him in the eye. “You’re smart, okay? Way smarter than I’ll ever be. So I know that math test isn’t the real problem. Tell me what the deal is so we can figure all this out.”</p>
<p>Miguel bit his lip and looked down at his lap. He didn’t know how to broach the subject. He didn’t know how to say it without making Sensei hurt. He didn’t know how to tell him: <em>your son kicked me off a balcony and I’ve started having nightmares about it. </em></p>
<p>They never talked about how he got hurt. They kept it unsaid. In the background. Hidden in the shadows where they wouldn’t have to confront it. Because it hurt too much. Because there was too much there. Too much baggage.</p>
<p>And Miguel didn’t want to cause anyone any more hurt than he’d already caused by ending up like this. He didn’t want to lay awake at night and hear his mom sobbing when she thought he was fast asleep. He didn’t want to see the pain and worry in Sensei’s eyes when he couldn’t do something so basic and simple. He didn’t want his <em>yaya</em> to look at him with a pitiful smile and misty eyes.</p>
<p>He just wanted everything to go back to normal.</p>
<p>“It’s nothing.” He finally said.</p>
<p>Sensei raised an eyebrow in disbelief, and just like his mom, Miguel could tell he could see straight through him. “Really, kid? It doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”</p>
<p><em>Shit</em>. Why did all the adults in his life have him all figured out? “I just—I gotta figure out some stuff on my own, okay?” He said, sounding irritable even to his own ears.</p>
<p>“Okay. But if you want to stick around for a few hours, you’re welcome to. I don’t have to be anywhere until two.”</p>
<p>Miguel looked down at his phone and saw that it was only 11:15. The homebound teacher wouldn’t be coming until four, but he didn’t really want to stick around at Sensei Lawrence’s place either. He wasn’t in the mood to watch <em>Iron Eagle</em> for the gazillionth time, and he definitely wasn’t in the mood to put up with Sensei’s commentary about how great the 80s were, and how technology made the present stupid and lame.</p>
<p>“Look, I gotta go home and clean up. The homebound teacher will be here soon.” Miguel lied, deciding it was better to be alone.</p>
<p>And as he wheeled himself to the door, Sensei didn’t stop him. It was something he was both grateful for and disappointed with. Because a small part of him wanted someone to push him until he gave in and told them everything. Because a small part of him wanted to get everything off his chest. Because deep down, he knew it would make him feel better to confront his problems head-on.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>The apartment was empty when he got back. It was something that still felt weird and new to him. Because before the accident, his <em>yaya</em> was almost always at home. But now, she had a job as a low-paid housekeeper for some rich family in Encino. It was something that made him feel so guilty, because if he hadn’t ended up in the hospital for over a month, she wouldn’t have to go to work for so little. But they had so many medical bills to pay. So many.</p>
<p>And sure, the community and Sensei had done enough to pay for his surgery, but there were so many bills besides that, so many things his mom’s insurance wouldn’t cover. Like the ambulance ride he didn’t remember and the trauma therapist his mom was forcing him to see, even when she knew they couldn’t afford it. So now, he spent hours home alone while his mom and his <em>yaya</em> worked their asses off to pay off the mountain of bills that had accumulated during the time he spent laid up in the hospital.  </p>
<p>Miguel sighed. He needed to stop thinking about that, about things that made him feel guilty and upset and every flavor of unwanted emotion. He spent so much time blaming himself for the pain he caused everyone by getting hurt like this, and despite working through his thoughts of guilt with the therapist over the past few months, he still couldn’t figure out how to let those feelings go. Not when his <em>abuela</em> had to get a job because of him.</p>
<p>The sound of silence suddenly felt so heavy. So sharp and so sudden. Because their home was usually so full of the little noises that signaled the traces life. It felt so unsettling to exist in this space alone.</p>
<p>He needed to do something, get some homework done, study for his math test. But the homebound teacher wouldn’t be here for hours, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on homework beyond the hour of cramming he planned to do right before the test.</p>
<p>Miguel began to move from his lingering position by the front door toward the living room couch. Maybe if he let himself relax and turn his brain off in front of the TV, he could figure out how to turn this day around.</p>
<p>And his plan seemed to work for a little while, because a re-run of the Dodgers’ fantastic display at the 1988 World Series was on. And watching Kirk Gibson’s legendary home run and the subsequent commentary certainly helped him keep his mind off his own problems for a little while.</p>
<p>But then his phone buzzed, lighting up on the cushion next to him and catching his attention.</p>
<p>It was a text from Aisha.  </p>
<p><em>i saw this and thought of u </em>the message said. It was accompanied by a meme. One of those cheesy Personal FBI Agent ones that only made him laugh because Aisha thought they were funny.</p>
<p>But Aisha wasn’t around to see his reaction, to see that he didn’t even crack a smile.</p>
<p>He didn’t have to pretend.</p>
<p>Something was wrong with him. Something he needed to figure out, needed to understand. Because this wasn’t the normal post-injury depression he had been dealing with for months now, this was something else.</p>
<p>Something bigger. Something he was scared to confront.</p>
<p>And maybe deciding to mindlessly open Instagram to distract himself was the stupidest thing he could have done. Because at the first picture, he was immediately hit with feelings of anger and resentment. Because everyone was moving on with life, happily going about their days and doing things all the <em>normal</em> kids got to do. Things he wasn’t sure he would ever get to experience again.</p>
<p>Miguel stared intently down at his screen, looking at photo after photo of his peers and classmates. A picture of Hawk and Mitch riding their bikes along the beach. A picture of Demetri posing with a Lego volcano, the caption reading: <em>science project 2.0.</em> An image of Moon and Piper eating chocolate ice cream cones, looks of pure adoration on both of their faces. A photo of Bert posing with his tuba at some marching band event. A photo of Hawk and Tory, clad in their Cobra Kai gis, sweat dripping off their faces after what had to be a rigorous training session.</p>
<p>Suddenly overcome with such a sharp feeling of fiery, hot anger, Miguel threw his phone across the room and watched as it hit the wall before bouncing harmlessly on the floor a few times, completely intact.</p>
<p>And somehow, that made him more upset. Because he wanted it to break. He wanted to destroy it, watch it shatter into a million little pieces. Be unsalvageable. Because it hurt to confront the feelings he’d been pushing down for so long.</p>
<p><em>Everything</em> had been taken from him. Everything that mattered. School, the daily connection with his peers, karate, the ability to do basic things like get a glass of water without expending all his energy. Everything about his life had changed, and his friends were so oblivious to it all. They didn’t understand it. They couldn’t even if they tried.</p>
<p>They didn’t know what they had. They didn’t understand how precious the good things were, how important it was to cherish them. Because they could be taken away in an instant.</p>
<p>And Miguel wouldn’t let himself live in denial any longer. He had to confront the fact that Robby took his life away from him. Obliterated everything that meant something to him with a single act. All because he decided to do the right thing. To be the better person.</p>
<p>A part of him wanted to kick Robby over a balcony himself, relish in the pleasure of watching him meet the same grueling fate. But the other part of him, the more rational part, knew he had to do something about his anger before it completely consumed him. Before it turned him into a bitter, hollow shadow of his old self.  </p>
<p>But he didn’t know how to do it. He didn’t know how to forgive someone who didn’t deserve forgiveness. He couldn’t fathom letting his anger go when he had nowhere to put it. Nowhere to channel and direct it.</p>
<p>Because he wanted revenge. He wanted it so desperately and completely, even though he knew it wasn’t the right path.</p>
<p>Miguel let out a deep sigh and put his face into his hands. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know how to get over his feelings.</p>
<p>Not without help.</p>
<p>But that was the problem. Because he didn’t know how to ask for help. Not from Sensei. And he didn’t think anyone else would be able to understand his thirst for revenge, his deep, soul-sucking anger. His mom certainly wouldn’t get it. She never sought revenge for anything. And the stupid therapist his mom was making him see would just hand him empty platitudes and useless advice. But Sensei, he understood revenge and anger and frustration.</p>
<p>Miguel knew him well enough to be keenly aware of that.</p>
<p>But how could he explain that he wanted to hurt Sensei’s only son? Injure him in the same way and relish in revenge. How could he explain his dilemma without sounding like a complete psychopath?</p>
<p>And most importantly, how could he explain himself without hurting Sensei?</p>
<p>Miguel let out a frustrated groan. The fact that Robby kicked him made everything more complicated than it should have been. If anybody else had done this to him, he would have felt confident in confiding in Sensei immediately. But because it was Robby, he felt like he had to walk on eggshells and tread far too carefully for his own liking.</p>
<p>He hadn’t even talked to Sensei about the accident much. Mostly because he was trying to keep himself in the present. Because if he didn’t, if he let himself dwell on <em>what ifs</em> and <em>has beens</em>, he would have given up completely long before now.</p>
<p>And he would have gone crazy. Absolutely insane.</p>
<p>But now he felt like he was going crazy regardless of what he focused his attention on.</p>
<p>Maybe if he slept on it, he would figure it out. Maybe if he just gave up on today and tried again tomorrow, he would gather some clarity.</p>
<p>It was decided, then. He would go to bed and figure the rest out tomorrow. Transferring back into his chair, Miguel began to make his way toward his bedroom. But on the way there, he realized there would be no way to fall asleep with his racing, invasive thoughts.</p>
<p>At least, no way to fall asleep naturally.</p>
<p>But he could fall asleep with some help.</p>
<p>Turning around, Miguel made a beeline for the kitchen. Because there were two things he needed from there: a glass of water and the stupid pill container he got after his surgery.</p>
<p>There were so many medications he had to take because of his injury, but one he absolutely refused to take after a few weeks at home were the muscle relaxers for his leg spasms. They made him feel so drowsy and out of it, like he was in a thick, dense fog. It normally wasn’t a good thing, but today, when he just wanted to be done, when he just wanted to figure out a way to reset his brain by sleeping, they were perfect.</p>
<p>After gulping them down with some water, he set his half-empty glass and his pill container on the counter, too lazy to put either of them back in their proper places. He wasn’t in the mood for cleanup, not with all the effort it took. Not on a day like this.</p>
<p>Once he got to his bedroom, he didn’t have the energy to take off his shoes either. Instead, he just decided to get in bed fully clothed. And maybe this was a sign he’d completely given up, written this day off the books, but he also didn’t have the energy to care.</p>
<p>Because there was no use in continuing to swim against the current when there was nobody there to save him.</p><hr/>
<p>Carmen sighed and ran a hand through her hair, the other tapping erratically on the steering wheel of her car. She was at a stoplight on the way home from work, feeling an overwhelming sense of restlessness and unease.</p>
<p>It was something she had become far too familiar with.  </p>
<p>But she just had to let the feelings wash over her. She had to let herself sit with the uncomfortableness of it all. Because she’d been dealing with these emotions all day. All day, every day for months now. And without much reprieve.</p>
<p>Because the past few months had been the hardest and longest few months of Carmen’s life. Even harder than leaving Ecuador all those years ago. Even harder than all the uncertainty that had entailed. Because every day was a challenge filled with some new obstacle or problem—some new headache and some new heartbreak. And it all centered around Miggy. Around her <em>mijo’s</em> condition. Around the fact that her son was now a paraplegic, someone recovering from a spinal cord injury, someone who she’d reluctantly filed for disability because they desperately needed the money.</p>
<p>But, despite the headache of figuring out how to make their home accessible, despite Miguel’s depression and struggles to concentrate with his at-home-schoolwork, life continued. The sands of time flowed on and there were still little moments of happiness sprinkled into her life here and there. But there were also moments of deep sadness. Moments when she cried, when she got frustrated, when she felt her heart break in two every time she watched Miggy fail to do simple things like get himself ready for the day without help.</p>
<p>It was in those moments that Carmen felt like she was being dragged through life against her will. Kicking and screaming and cursing God for letting this happen to her little boy.</p>
<p>And despite Miguel’s recent improvements in mobility, despite being able to see some hope on the horizon, she didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t let herself. Not until Miggy was up and walking normally and without pain. Not until she could witness it with her own two eyes.</p>
<p>Because she didn’t want to get her hopes up only for them to be completely crushed. She knew enough about medicine and about spinal injuries to know that progress wasn’t always linear, that sometimes it stopped, that sometimes it turned back on itself.</p>
<p>It was a way to brace herself for the worst. A way to learn to be okay with disappointment. Because if Miggy didn’t make any more improvements, she liked to think she would be okay. She liked to think she would be able to be strong for her <em>mijito</em> in his disappointment.</p>
<p>It was a tactic that had worked well so far. One that made her so pleasantly surprised when Johnny brought Miguel back from that concert, beaming with joy at his ability to move his right foot. So proud of himself, so proud of his small victory. A victory that would have seemed so insignificant and trivial to an outsider.</p>
<p>But it was huge to her. So huge that she had found herself overcome with emotion. Because it was the first time she’d seen Miggy smile in weeks. It was the first time she’d seen him happy in so, so long. And his happiness mattered far more to her than any of his physical limitations.</p>
<p>Yet, she couldn’t deny his injury was intrinsically linked to his happiness. Because even after that small victory at the concert, things hadn’t been smooth sailing. Not by a long shot. Miggy still had bad days, a lot of bad days. There were just more good ones than before. But he still got frustrated at the pace of his progress, he still became impatient with how long it took him to do basic tasks. And he still had times where he would shut down and refuse to tell her what was wrong.</p>
<p>Like this morning when she found him frustrated and clearly upset at the kitchen table.  </p>
<p>Carmen sighed. She didn’t know what to do about that. And she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t been worrying about him all day. Hoping he was okay. Hoping he wasn’t lonely or in need of help, help that nobody was at home to provide.</p>
<p>That was something she’d worried so much about. Too much. Because what if he fell and there was nobody to help him? What if he got hurt or sick or just needed someone to be there with him when he broke down and cried?</p>
<p>But she had to work. And now, so did Mamá.</p>
<p>It was truly unfortunate, but the bills weren’t going to pay themselves. If she wanted to put food on the table, if she wanted them to have a roof over their heads, it had to be done. And Miggy would have to spend a lot of time home alone. It was something she agonized over far too often. Because she didn’t feel good about it. It made her feel like a horrible mother.</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath and putting her foot to the gas as the light turned green, Carmen began to think about Johnny. About how helpful he’d been, about how willing he’d been to look after Miguel while she and Mamá were at work.</p>
<p>She’d been so reluctant to let Miggy spend time with Johnny at first. But after a really bad day shortly after Miguel had been released from the hospital, she realized Johnny’s supervision was necessary. Because Miggy wasn’t independent anymore. He needed help with things, especially in the beginning. And now, months on when her <em>mijo</em> had become better at transfers and clothe changes and other everyday tasks, she couldn’t deny how much Johnny’s presence in his life had helped him.</p>
<p>And she couldn’t deny that her feelings for the man were still there. Buried somewhere underneath all the pain that had piled up inside her over the past few months.</p>
<p>And she didn’t know what to do with them. Not after everything.</p>
<p>Carmen turned on the radio to distract herself for the rest of the drive home. She couldn’t let herself continue to think about all the hard things. If she did, they would weigh her down too much. And she couldn’t have that. Not today. Because if this morning was anything to go off of, Miggy wasn’t having a good day, and she needed to be there for him.</p>
<p>But until her phone began to ring as she pulled into her parking spot at the apartment complex, she didn’t realize just how bad of a day Miggy actually had. Because the phone call was from Julie—Miguel’s homebound teacher. And the woman never called unless there was a problem.</p>
<p>“Hello?” She tentatively asked as she answered the call.</p>
<p><em>“Carmen?”</em> Julie asked. <em>“Do you have a minute?”</em></p>
<p>“Yes.” Carmen said as she got out of the car. “Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>Julie sighed. <em>“I was actually calling to ask you that.”</em></p>
<p>A sick feeling formed in the pit of her stomach at Julie’s words, and suddenly she wanted nothing more than to burst through the front door and check on her Miguelito herself. But she had to restrain herself. She had to stay outside and keep the phone call private.</p>
<p><em>“Miguel didn’t answer the door when I came by.”</em> Julie said after Carmen was silent for a little too long. <em>“He didn’t answer any of my calls or texts either.”</em></p>
<p>“What?” Carmen asked softly, feeling her mouth go dry. “He missed his appointment?”</p>
<p><em>“Uh-huh.”</em> Julie said. <em>“I take it you aren’t home from work yet?”</em></p>
<p>“I just got home right as you called. I’m standing outside the front door now.”</p>
<p>Julie sighed. <em>“We just missed each other. I stuck around for a while, hoping he would answer eventually, but I had to leave at five in order to make it to my next house on time.” </em></p>
<p>Carmen looked down at her watch then. It was 5:09.</p>
<p><em>“Is Miguel okay?” </em>Julie continued.<em> “This isn’t like him.”</em></p>
<p>Carmen rubbed at the space between her eyebrows with her free hand, feeling the beginnings of a headache start to blossom. “No, it’s not. He had a rough night last night, and before I left for work this morning, he wasn’t doing too well, but he said he would be ready for you at four. I’m so sorry about this, Julie. I was worried about leaving him alone today. I…” Carmen trailed off, not knowing what to say.</p>
<p>Because all she wanted to do was hang up and rush to her son’s side.</p>
<p><em>“It’s alright.”</em> Julie said, voice calm and steady. <em>“Go check on Miguel. We can talk about rescheduling later.” </em></p>
<p>“Thank you. I’ll call you back once I find out what happened.”</p>
<p>After saying their goodbyes, Carmen couldn’t get inside fast enough. Had something bad happened? Was Miggy hurt? Could he not get to his phone or to the door? Had he fallen?</p>
<p>“Miggy?” She called as she opened the door. “I’m home! Are you okay?”</p>
<p>Stepping inside and shutting the door behind her, the first thing she noticed was the eerie quiet. The stillness and the dark. The blinds were shut, casting the room in a dim haze. It made the hair on her arms stand up in trepidation.</p>
<p>When Miguel didn’t answer, she walked toward his bedroom without wasting a moment. She had to find her kid, and she had to find out why he completely ignored Julie when she came to call.</p>
<p>She was surprised to find his bedroom door shut, and from the gap at the bottom of the door, she could tell the light was off too.</p>
<p>“Miggy?” She asked again as she slowly opened the door and poked her head inside.</p>
<p>There was no movement. Not that she could tell from how dark it was inside.</p>
<p>As she flicked on the light switch, she was greeted by the sight of her son, sprawled out on his mattress, covers in a crinkled mess underneath his body, fast asleep. Not even the sudden light made him stir.</p>
<p>And as she stepped closer to his bed, she began to scan him over for any sign of injury or illness. He was still wearing his shoes and the outfit of blue sweatpants and yellow hoodie that she helped him put on before she left for work. But despite the strange attire, he was clearly still breathing, he wasn’t hurt, and he didn’t look like he was in any pain, judging by the relaxed expression on his unconscious face.</p>
<p>Carmen let out a sigh of relief she didn’t know she’d been holding in.</p>
<p>But despite how peaceful he looked; she knew she needed to wake him up. Because she needed to find out what happened. And she knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight if he continued his stay in the land of dreams.</p>
<p>“Miggy.” She began, softly brushing his hair back in a way that had become all too familiar lately. “You need to wake up my baby.”</p>
<p>“Uhhhnnnnnggg.” He groaned as he slowly opened his eyes, clearly not happy about being disturbed.</p>
<p>“There you go, <em>mijito</em>.”</p>
<p>“Mamá?” He said, eyes bleary and foggy. “What time is it?”</p>
<p>Carmen sucked in a breath. “About five-fifteen. You missed your appointment with Julie. Weren’t you supposed to take a math test?”</p>
<p>She watched his eyes go wide then, the sleep leaving his features completely as he looked around and realized what had happened.</p>
<p>“Shit!” He said, seemingly uncaring that she didn’t like to hear that kind of language from him.</p>
<p>But as she looked at her son, ready to admonish him for his word choice, she realized there was something wrong with his face. Because the sleep may have left it, but his eyes still held that foggy, bleary quality.</p>
<p>And after a moment of silence where she watched Miguel pull himself into a sitting position the way he had been taught in his occupational therapy sessions, she finally spoke. “Miggy, look at me.”</p>
<p>Miguel locked his eyes with hers, and she realized she wasn’t seeing things. She realized his eyes reflected the haze of heavy medications. It was something she hadn’t seen reflected in his features for weeks.</p>
<p>It made her stomach sink to the floor in worry. Because something was really wrong here. Something just below the surface, below where she could see. In a place where Miguel could hide it.</p>
<p>“Have you been in a lot of pain today, <em>mijo</em>?” She asked softly.</p>
<p>Miguel knit his eyebrows together. “No. Why?”</p>
<p>His answer made her heart stop momentarily. It wasn’t what she expected.</p>
<p>“Your eyes.” She said after a beat of silence. “I work at a hospital, Miggy. I take x-rays in the ER, usually after the patients have been given high doses of painkillers.” She said needlessly. “And their eyes always look the way yours do now.”</p>
<p>Miguel gulped heavily and stared at his lap, seeming to understand her unspoken question. “I took one of my muscle relaxers earlier.”</p>
<p>Carmen sat down on the bed next to him at that, taking one of his hands in her own. “But you said you weren’t in any pain?” Her voice rose as if asking a question, but it wasn’t a question. Not really.</p>
<p>It was an interrogation. A soft one, padded and gentle so he wouldn’t feel the blows.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t. I’m not. At least…not enough to take <em>those</em>.” Miguel sighed deeply, and Carmen hated the way the whole world seemed to be resting on his shoulders. “But Mom? Sometimes—sometimes I just have really bad days. You know that. And on those days, I have to find a way to make it quiet. And—and nothing was working so I took one of my pills. I wanted to sleep.”</p>
<p>The silence that followed Miggy’s admission was thick and weighted. Medication abuse? Her son was resorting to <em>that</em>? But why? What happened today to cause all of this?</p>
<p>“<em>Mijo</em>.” She began, squeezing his hand tightly as a way to show she was there. To ground him. And to ground herself. “Please tell me what’s wrong. You know I will help you through anything.”</p>
<p>“I just—” Miguel cut himself off, and Carmen didn’t miss the way his jaw set, the way his hand tightened minutely in hers. “I just feel sad. And a little frustrated.”</p>
<p>She waited for him to say more. To elaborate. But nothing else came. He had all his walls up, fortified and defended from the oncoming barrage.</p>
<p>And she didn’t know how to get past them. Not since the accident. Not since that monumental shift occurred back on the first day of school. Back in August.</p>
<p>Getting things out of Miggy was something she prided herself on before all of this. It was something that made her feel like a good parent and a responsible mother. But now, she didn’t know how to be stern and lay down the law when her son was struggling in a way she couldn’t even begin to fathom. She didn’t know how to discipline someone she felt such pity and anguish for. And she certainly didn’t have the heart to demand answers from someone she had to help with the little things each and every day. When she had to watch her son get his pride chipped away, piece by piece, every time he had to ask for help putting on his socks or getting out of the car at a doctor’s appointment.</p>
<p>“Are you taking your depression medication?” She finally asked, realizing it was the only way she knew how to help.</p>
<p>“Of course.”  </p>
<p>“You promise?”</p>
<p>“I promise.” Miguel said, looking at her intently. “You can go check, you know.”</p>
<p>Sure, she could go check, but she also wasn’t naïve enough to believe the slow disappearance of pills meant they were getting in his mouth.</p>
<p>She would just have to take his word for it. Because she didn’t have the heart to take that small ounce of independence from him. She couldn’t. Not after so much had been stripped away from him already.</p>
<p>“I understand all of this is really hard for you, Miguelito. And I don’t want you to feel like you can’t come to me. If you want to talk, I will always listen. Always. Okay, <em>mijito</em>?”</p>
<p>“Okay.” Miguel said simply.  </p>
<p>And that was it. He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t extend an olive branch. He didn’t reach out a desperate hand for help.</p>
<p>She didn’t know what to do.</p>
<p>“I need to make a call to Julie and explain why you missed your appointment.” She finally said, standing from the bed and straightening her scrubs. “And you need to stay awake. No going back to sleep. You’ll be up all night if you do.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Mamá.”</p>
<p>“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything. You can come join me if you want.”</p>
<p>Miguel nodded, but made no move toward his wheelchair as she lingered at his bedroom door for a few seconds.</p>
<p>Sighing and turning on her heel, Carmen made her way back down the hall, wondering what she was going to do, wondering how she was going to figure out what was going on in Miggy’s head.</p>
<p>Flipping on the living room lights, she took in the scene around her for the first time. There were a couple blankets and extra pillows Miguel used for his back on the couch, as well as the heating pad plugged into the wall nearby.</p>
<p>So, he hadn’t slept <em>all</em> day. That was good.</p>
<p>And she had to be grateful that Miggy’s bad days weren’t—for the most part—as bad as they were in the beginning. Because at least he wasn’t despondent to the point of staying in bed all day, unable to summon the energy it took to get from his bed to the wheelchair. Because at least it wasn’t like those early days in the hospital where he would burst into tears seemingly unprovoked.</p>
<p>She had to look for the improvements. She had to notice the way he was inching forward, bit by bit.</p>
<p>She would go crazy if she didn’t.</p>
<p>Letting out a deep sigh, she kicked off her shoes and plopped down on the couch to call Julie back. But just as she pulled her phone out of her purse, she heard a ringing sound. At first, she thought it was her own device, but after looking down her dark, blank screen, she realized it was Miggy’s.</p>
<p>Standing up to survey the area, she saw it, face up and screen bright, in the corner of the living room by the edge of the small, grey couch.</p>
<p>It was kind of a weird spot. Tucked away in a place Miggy didn’t frequent since his injury. He always preferred the orange couch since getting hurt. Because it was in front of the TV and easier for him to get to. But something had to have happened for it to end up there, and from the way Miggy was acting, she could tell he wasn’t in the headspace to go to all the work it would have taken to pick it up.</p>
<p>She didn’t realize she had become lost in her thoughts until his phone chimed again, this time indicating a text. Picking up the device and looking down at the screen, she saw it was from Miggy’s friend Hawk.</p>
<p>
  <em>El Serpiente!!! wanna hang this weekend? i can come over to your place so its nbd. you coming back to school soon? all the Cobras miss you. </em>
</p>
<p>After reading the text, she looked through his other notifications on the lock screen and saw the missed call from a moment ago that looked to be from a scammer, and three missed calls and two texts from Julie.</p>
<p>A part of her wished she knew his passcode. A part of her wished she could snoop on him, invade his privacy. It was the part of her that was filled with nagging, incessant worry about Miggy’s mental health. It was the part that worried he would google ways to commit suicide or other things that were a silent, unseen cry for help.</p>
<p>The rational part of her brain knew without a doubt that he wasn’t in that bad of a headspace, knew that, for the most part, Miguel’s mental health had improved greatly since the breakthrough at the concert, but from the way he’d been acting today, she couldn’t help but worry.</p>
<p>Because he wouldn’t let her in. He wouldn’t let her help with whatever was causing all this.</p>
<p>And that increased her anxieties.</p>
<p>After going over to the kitchen counter to set his phone somewhere it wouldn’t get stepped on or lost, Carmen let out another deep sigh and undid her tight braid. Running her hands through her hair and rubbing at her scalp, she noticed Miguel’s pill container and a half-full glass of water out of the corner of her eye.</p>
<p>What was she going to do about this? About the medication abuse. She couldn’t take that tiny sliver of independence away from him. She couldn’t.</p>
<p>It was one of the first things he insisted on doing all by himself after being released from the hospital. She remembered bringing him his pills and a glass of water the first morning he woke up in his own bed after over a month in the hospital. But she hadn’t expected the way he yelled at her then. The way he became so angry in a way she’d never seen before. Because he wanted to do it. He wanted to get his pills himself.</p>
<p><em>“I’m not—I’m not—I can do it myself!”</em> He’d yelled, bitterness in his voice and tears in his eyes.</p>
<p>And to this day, the words he <em>didn’t</em> say stuck in her mind, replayed themselves over and over. The words he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud for fear they would become a permanent reality.  </p>
<p>It was an exchange she thought about a lot. Because Miguel never had qualms about being vulnerable, but she’d never expected the anger she’d seen that day. She never expected to see such a desperate and hopeless version of her son. Desperate for control over his life and his body. And hopeless that it would return.</p>
<p>So she knew she couldn’t take that bit of self-sufficiency from him. She knew she couldn’t tell him she didn’t trust him with his pills anymore.</p>
<p>But she was scared. Because what if he did it again? What if he kept doing it over and over until it wasn’t enough anymore? Until it led down a path she knew didn’t have a happy ending. For anyone. For anyone who played with fire like this.</p>
<p>She stared absentmindedly at Miggy’s water glass again. Not really looking at it, not really noticing it or thinking about it.</p>
<p>Instead, she was thinking about Johnny. Because if there was anyone that could help Miguel in this situation, it was him. Because he didn’t take no for an answer. Because he refused to let Miguel give up on anything. And while she didn’t have it in her to push Miggy to open up, she knew Johnny certainly did. And she knew Miggy would respond to his efforts.</p>
<p>It was settled then. She would talk to Johnny, beg him for help.</p>
<p>Because she didn’t know what else to do.</p><hr/>
<p>Johnny let out an annoyed huff of breath as he popped the cap off a Coors Banquet and sat back down at the kitchen table, a blank sheet of lined paper in front of him.</p>
<p>He didn’t know why he was doing this. Why he was torturing himself like this.</p>
<p>It wasn’t like Robby would answer him anyway. But maybe he read the letters he sent, even if he read them with malice and anger. And that was motivation enough to keep him writing them regardless of if the reception was good or bad.</p>
<p>All he knew was that he had to keep trying. No matter what. Miguel had made that clear to him a few days ago. He made it clear when he told him, point blank, that he was giving up, that he wasn’t living up to the person he was supposed to be.</p>
<p>That he wasn’t being a sensei.</p>
<p>That he was letting everyone think he was weak.</p>
<p>And he couldn’t deny that the kid was right. Because when he looked at Miguel, when his saw his stalwart determination to get back up time and time again, to not let himself believe he would be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of his life, he saw someone he wanted to become a little more like.</p>
<p>So now he was writing Robby. Because he knew he needed to try harder. He’d written him a few times since their disastrous encounter at the soup kitchen, but now he was determined to write every week, even though his kid hadn’t answered a single one of his previous letters. Even though he’d hung up every one of his calls.</p>
<p>Johnny couldn’t really blame him. After all, he screwed up pretty bad. Probably screwed up worse than ever before.</p>
<p>He just needed to figure out how to be a dad. And making the commitment to write Robby every week was a good place to start.</p>
<p>But just as he put pen to paper, there was a loud, frantic knock at his door.</p>
<p>It momentarily startled him into freezing on the spot. He wasn’t expecting anyone, especially not at ten p.m.</p>
<p>Trudging to the door and opening it hesitantly, he was surprised to find Carmen there, hair frazzled, looking tired and exhausted and every level of worried.</p>
<p>“Carmen.” He began, pinching his eyebrows together. “Is everything okay? What’s wrong?”</p>
<p>“We need to talk.” She said. “Can I come in?”</p>
<p>Silently opening the door wide enough so she could step inside, Johnny began to worry. She hadn’t ever shown up at his door like this, and especially not since everything that had gone down at the school, instead choosing to grieve in private or with her mother.</p>
<p>She never came to him. And he couldn’t blame her.</p>
<p>“What’s wrong?” He repeated, following her to the couch and sitting down.</p>
<p>“Was Miguel…acting strange today when you worked on physical therapy with him?” She asked, wringing her hands together.</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Johnny said instantly, letting out a sigh.</p>
<p>He tried not to let himself dwell on it, on the fact that Miguel turned down his offer to stick around after they were done. Because it wasn’t like him. At least, it wasn’t like him at this stage of his recovery, not after he stood for the first time, so overcome with joy and happiness. Not after he’d grown so used to seeing that smile again.</p>
<p>“He kind of seemed…distracted.” He said after realizing Carmen wanted him to continue. “He wasn’t successful at standing once today. And when I asked him what the deal was, he wouldn’t tell me. Kept deflecting. He also had some of those muscle shaking things again. And it’s been weeks since the last time.”</p>
<p>Carmen let out a trembling breath and ran a hand through her hair. And from the way it looked all messed up, Johnny could tell she’d been doing that a lot today.</p>
<p>“I got the same treatment when I got home from work.” She began. “He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. But Johnny, he missed his appointment with the homebound teacher. And—and that’s not like him. But what’s even worse is that he took some medication the doctor prescribed for muscle pain and spasms so he could sleep. And he told me—he told me he just wanted his mind to be quiet. That’s why he did it.”</p>
<p>Johnny gulped. He knew what this was without Carmen saying it outright. He knew because he saw it in Shannon, her bottle of pills always accompanying her. He knew because he saw it in himself when he looked at his credit card statement and saw how much money he spent on alcohol.</p>
<p>It was a way to self-medicate. To hide the problems and the pain under disorientation and relaxation.</p>
<p>And the fact that Miguel wanted to resort to that was terrifying. Terrifying beyond belief.</p>
<p>Because the kid was better than he could ever hope to be. Because his potential was incredible, not just in karate, but in all areas of life.</p>
<p>Johnny took a moment to look at Carmen’s face then, to study and examine it. There were dark bags under her eyes and the crow’s feet at the corners of her eyelids looked a little deeper than they did before. The stress of this whole ordeal was getting to her. Getting to her worse than he previously thought.</p>
<p>“Johnny.” She said when the thick silence went on for too long. “I don’t—I don’t think I have the heart to demand answers from him. To make him tell me why he did this and why he’s so upset. But…I know you do. Because you know how to fight. Because Miggy trusts you more than you realize. So, I know you can get it out of him.”</p>
<p>It took him a moment to realize she was begging him for help. To realize this wasn’t a request, it was a demand. Because she was desperate.</p>
<p>And he was desperate too. Because it was Diaz. It was Miguel. And he would do anything for that kid.</p>
<p>“Okay.” He said, nodding vigorously. “I’ll figure it out. I promise.”  </p>
<p>Relief seemed to physically come over Carmen then, her shoulders dropped from their hunched position, and she let out a long sigh.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Johnny.”</p>
<p>And as she stood to leave, Johnny wondered how he was going to do this. How he was going to pry information out of a stubborn, teenage kid who wanted to carry the weight of his problems all by himself.</p>
<p>But he would do it because he cared about Miguel. Because he would do anything to help him. Because, as Carmen said, he knew how to fight.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“Hold it, Diaz. You got this. You can do this.”</p>
<p>But apparently his pep talks weren’t working because the next thing he knew, Miguel was a crumpled heap on the floor of his apartment.</p>
<p>Again.</p>
<p>The standing exercises were going just about as well as they were yesterday. Which, all things considered, wasn’t well at all.</p>
<p>A part of Johnny was worried about it. A part of him was worried that this wasn’t some mental block, and instead it was where Miguel’s progress would stop. Where he would plateau.</p>
<p>And it didn’t help his nerves that Miguel seemed to be just as frustrated and irritable as he was yesterday.</p>
<p>But this time, he had the conversation with Carmen in the back of his mind. This time he came prepared to handle the funk Miguel seemed to have found himself stuck in. Because instead of getting sleep last night, he hatched a plan.</p>
<p>And he hoped he would be able to pull it off. He hoped it would work.</p>
<p>“Alright, buddy.” He said, looking down at Miguel and watching as the kid arranged himself into a sitting position. “It’s almost lunchtime. Let’s go on a field trip.”</p>
<p>“We’re not gonna do this anymore?” Miguel asked, looking confused, but unable to hide the relief in his voice.</p>
<p>“Nope.” He answered, popping the p. “We’re going on a little excursion.”</p>
<p>“Does this…excursion include physical therapy?”</p>
<p>“You’ll see.”</p>
<p>Miguel raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”</p>
<p>“You’ll see what it means when we get there.” Johnny said, gaining momentary satisfaction at watching Miguel look annoyed and roll his eyes. “Let’s get you in your chair, Hot Wheels. We’ve got somewhere to be!”</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>“Sal’s?” Miguel asked as they pulled into the parking lot. “This is the place you were hyping up on the way over?”</p>
<p>“Hey!” Johnny said indignantly. “This place is great and you know it! They keep it simple. Just a hot grill and—”</p>
<p>“—some quality chuck. I know, Sensei.” Miguel interrupted, lips moving slightly upward in a forced smile.</p>
<p>“Well, it looks like I’ve taught you well. C’mon. Food awaits.”</p>
<p>Getting out of the van and opening the back to get Miguel’s wheelchair, Johnny began to think about how much he liked these handicapped parking spaces and passes. It wasn’t something he would ever vocalize to Miguel or Carmen, but he secretly liked being able to park so close to his destination. And maybe that proved he was a lazy son of a bitch, but searching for an empty parking spot like a vulture stalking its prey was one of the major drawbacks of life in LA.</p>
<p>And if he was abusing the benefits of carting around some gimpy kid, nobody needed to know. Not even the DMV guy’s warning about fines and shit for leaving the pass up when Miguel wasn’t in the car could deter him. Besides, the cops had better things to do. There was no way he was going to get a ticket for that.</p>
<p>But above all, he enjoyed not having to worry about the reckless dweebs who always seemed to park next to him. Because that meant he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone opening their door and denting his car or some shit. And sure, it wasn’t like he should be worrying about a ’93 Dodge Caravan getting a scratch or two, but he supposed it was some holdover in his brain from the Challenger.</p>
<p>The sudden thought of his former car made him let out an involuntary and frustrated sigh. He really regretted leaving it on the beach. Because he could have sold it to pay for Miguel’s surgery. He could have made a lot of money off it too, enough to help the Diaz family with the other medical bills he knew they had been struggling to pay.</p>
<p>But that was in the past. There was nothing he could do about it now.</p>
<p>“Alright, Diaz.” He said, pushing the wheelchair to the passenger’s side of the van. “Let’s see if you can do this transfer by yourself this time.”</p>
<p>Miguel gave him an incredulous look. “I did it just fine a few days ago. You know, when we went to take all those cringey photos for your Facebook page?”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Diaz. I don’t want to hear about those pictures ever again. You hear me?”</p>
<p>“I’ve still got all of them on my phone.” Miguel said, a shit-eating grin on his face. “They’re saved in a blackmail file, ready and waiting for the perfect opportunity to resurface.”</p>
<p>And in that moment, Johnny didn’t really care about the supposed blackmail. Because all that mattered was that Miguel was smiling, a genuine, happy smile. And even if his plan failed, at least he could report the smile back to Carmen. That was a win.</p>
<p>“Okay. Whatever, kid. Just get out of the car. I’m hungry.”</p>
<p>Miguel’s transfer from the car to his chair was pretty painless. Johnny didn’t have to do anything besides make sure the kid didn’t fall on his ass. And he couldn’t deny that he was proud of him. He couldn’t deny that even the smallest progress in transferring and mobility made him proud.</p>
<p>“You ready for some grub?” He asked, pushing the little handicap button on the wall next to the entrance of the diner.</p>
<p>“Yeah, actually. I’m starting to get hungry.” Miguel said.</p>
<p>“Well, good.”</p>
<p>And as he pushed Miguel through the doors of the diner, the delicious smells began to make his mouth water and a sense of longing he hadn’t realized was buried within him emerged. Because before everything spiraled into disaster, he used to come here once a week. Once a week for at least ten years, maybe more. It was like a comfort for him, the predictableness of the food, the way he knew it would always taste delicious, the way he was on a first-name basis with Sal himself.</p>
<p>Before he met Miguel, before the kid taught him what it meant to live again, it was one of the only things in life he’d had to look forward to. One of the only places he could find human connection that wasn’t judgmental or hostile.</p>
<p>But then, even the peace and respite this place brought him had become tainted. It became tainted on the worst day of his life, the day he listened to Miguel’s voicemail about <em>girl trouble</em> and <em>grabbing a burger from that place you like</em>.</p>
<p>And because of that, because that horrific voicemail somehow got tied up in his memories of this place, he hadn’t been back since. He hadn’t been back in months. He couldn’t come here when Miguel was in the hospital right across the street. He couldn’t come here, stare out the window and worry that the kid’s life would never be the same again. He couldn’t come here and think about how he failed Robby for the millionth time. He couldn’t. Because those thoughts always made him sick to his stomach, so how would he be able to eat anything anyway?</p>
<p>“So…we gonna get a table?” Miguel asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.</p>
<p>“Uh-huh.” Johnny answered, pushing Miguel toward the nearest table and moving one of the chairs out of the way so the kid could spare himself the hassle of transferring yet again.</p>
<p>It wasn’t long after getting settled at their table of choice that a familiar voice caught his attention.</p>
<p>“Johnny! Is it really you?” Sal asked, astonished.</p>
<p>Johnny smiled. “Hey, Sal.”</p>
<p>“Where have you been?” The man asked, cutting to the chase in a way Johnny always appreciated. “I was worried the food wasn’t good enough for you anymore or something. I was worried you decided to ditch this<em> fine establishment</em> and frequent some other place.”</p>
<p>“Nah, don’t worry about that.” Johnny said, waving his hand in dismissal. “It’s just—let’s just say life has been pretty crazy the past few months.”</p>
<p>Sal hummed, seeming to notice Miguel and his wheelchair for the first time. And Johnny didn’t like the way his eyes lingered on the device. Not because of anything to do with him, but because he knew Miguel didn’t like it when people stared. He knew it made the kid uncomfortable and unsure of what to do or say.</p>
<p>“Well, I’m glad you’re back.” Sal smiled, looking back at Johnny. “I assume you want your usual?”</p>
<p>“Yup. And you want the same thing, right Diaz?”</p>
<p>Miguel nodded and flitted his gaze downward for a moment, indicating the awkwardness Johnny already knew he was feeling.</p>
<p>“Alright.” Sal said, pocketing his notepad. “Food will be out in fifteen to twenty. We’ll have to catch up sometime, Johnny. I’ve missed you.”</p>
<p>Johnny nodded. “Thanks, Sal.”  </p>
<p>The moment Sal walked away; Miguel spoke, tone inquisitive. “I thought you came here every week?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Ah. So maybe this plan will work after all. </em>
</p>
<p>“I did…. Well, I used to before…everything.” Johnny began, steeling himself for how vulnerable and open he was going to have to be. “But…Miguel, everything that happened with you at the school, it—it almost destroyed me. I know we haven’t really talked much about it, but I felt responsible for everything. I felt like it was my fault. Like I was a horrible teacher…and an even worse father.”</p>
<p>“Sensei.” Miguel cut in. “Don’t say that.”  </p>
<p>“But that’s how I felt, Diaz. And a part of me still feels that way. And I wanted to come here, I really did. But I couldn’t.”</p>
<p>The words started to come easily then. And he couldn’t help but think there was just something about this place that opened him up, laid all his sappy feelings bare. “Because I kept thinking about that voicemail you left the morning of. And—and how you mentioned coming to this place to talk things out. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t stop thinking about how different things would’ve been if I just answered your call, if I just picked up the damn phone. And I blamed myself for not answering, for letting it go to voicemail.”</p>
<p>Johnny took a deep breath. He was keenly aware of how watery and misty his eyes had become. But he needed to be honest with Miguel, even if this didn’t get the kid to open up about what was weighing on him. Because Johnny knew he needed to be open too. It had been long enough. Neither of them needed to walk on eggshells about the events back in August anymore. Neither of them needed to hide behind the walls they built over the past few months. Instead, they needed to get the hurt off their chests and move on.</p>
<p>“But now—now that things are looking up, I wanted to come back. Make new memories here and leave the past in the past.” Johnny finally said, feeling like there was so much more to say.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry, Sensei. I’m sorry I caused all th—”</p>
<p>“Nope.” Johnny cut in. “No blaming yourself. You didn’t choose this. You didn’t kick yourself over that balcony.”</p>
<p>He immediately cringed at his choice of words, but he also didn’t try to walk them back. Because they were true. Because Miguel needed to hear them.</p>
<p>And apparently, he was right, because as he looked at the kid’s face, he could see that he was thinking. Processing everything he’d said. Trying to figure out how to say his own story.  </p>
<p>“Actually, I’ve kinda been wanting to talk to you about that.” Miguel began. “About…you know, all of this.” He said, gesturing to his legs.</p>
<p>“Yeah?” Johnny asked.</p>
<p>There was a moment before anything happened. Before there was any movement between them. But then Miguel took a deep breath, closed his eyes, gripped the edge of the table and steeled himself for whatever he was about to say.</p>
<p>“Sensei?” He finally began, hesitant. “How do you forgive someone? Like, not in the basic everyday way, but forgiving when it’s really, <em>really</em> hard.” A thick and weighted pause came over their conversation then, and Johnny watched as Miguel swallowed heavily and blinked rapidly. “Because I don’t know how to forgive Robby and it’s eating me up inside.”</p>
<p>Johnny felt his heart stop momentarily. That wasn’t what he expected the kid to say. It wasn’t where he expected this conversation to go.</p>
<p>Not at all.</p>
<p>And if Johnny was being honest with himself, he needed to admit that Robby rarely crossed his mind when he was with Miguel. He didn’t know what that said about him, and he was scared to confront what that meant, but he couldn’t deny that it was the truth.</p>
<p>But now that he was thinking about it, he realized for the first time what it must feel like for Miguel. To know that his sensei’s kid did this to him. To try and come to terms with being wronged in such a way. To wonder why things had to turn out the way they did.</p>
<p>“Why…do you feel like you need to forgive him?” Johnny finally asked after a long beat of silence.</p>
<p>Miguel didn’t answer immediately, seeming to mull over his words. But when he did speak, it was with a strangely defeated sort of conviction Johnny didn’t know was possible to have.</p>
<p>“I’ve been feeling so angry about my…situation. And it’s gotten worse, especially in the past few days. And I’m scared I’m gonna do something I’ll regret if I don’t do something about it. Because I want revenge. I want to—I want to kick Robby over a balcony too…well, maybe not kick, but you get the point.”</p>
<p>Miguel trailed off and Johnny didn’t know what to say. He supposed it made sense, that Miguel would want an eye for an eye, but it didn’t stop the unsettling feeling that crept over him. Because Miguel wasn’t like that. He wasn’t vindictive.</p>
<p>He never really had that <em>strike first</em> mentality to begin with.</p>
<p>But he also didn’t know how to give the kid advice on <em>not</em> striking first. Not when he was so good at it himself. Not when he was always eager to jump into a fight and let everyone know who was boss. Not when revenge and retaliation were some of his oldest friends.</p>
<p>“Look, Miguel.” He finally answered, absentmindedly messing with the saltshaker on the table. “I don’t think I’m the person who should be giving you advice on this. Robby and I have a…complicated relationship.”</p>
<p>“I know, Sensei.” Miguel said kindly, voice calm and steady. “But you are the only person in my life who gets what it’s like. To be so angry like this. And I—I need your help.”</p>
<p>“My help?! Look what my help got you, Miguel!” He said, gesturing to the kid’s legs and coming across a little more aggressive than he was comfortable with.</p>
<p>The kid took a deep breath then, closing his eyes momentarily and trying to find his center. “Your help means everything to me, Sensei. Without you, I would still be stuck in bed feeling sorry for myself. And—and I think I still feel sorry for myself a lot of the time, but it would be way worse without you around. I know that much.”</p>
<p>Johnny felt his eyes begin to water at Miguel’s admission. And he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the way this kid always knew how to worm his way inside and open him up.</p>
<p>“Alright. I’ll help you.” He said, exhaling deeply. “But my advice might not be the best.”</p>
<p>“Yes, it will. That’s why I came to you.”</p>
<p>Johnny didn’t want to think about the magnitude of that sentence. What it meant. He didn’t want to think about how earnest and innocent Miguel sounded when he said it. And he definitely didn’t want to think about the amount of trust the kid was giving him. Trust he didn’t deserve.</p>
<p>“Okay, shoot.” Johnny said, giving in. “What do you want to know?”</p>
<p>There was a silence for a moment after that. One that went on for long enough that Johnny wondered if Miguel changed his mind about asking questions and opening up.</p>
<p>But then the kid spoke, and he noticed the emotion was back in his voice, vulnerable in a way Johnny hadn’t seen since that horrible day in the hospital. The day Miguel screamed at him, begged him to leave.  </p>
<p>“How—how do I forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it?” Miguel asked, clenching a fistful of napkins in his hand. “Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t let myself believe that Robby deserves to be forgiven. Not when he took my life away from me like this. Not when I can’t even—”</p>
<p>Johnny looked up at Miguel’s face when the kid suddenly cut himself off. He wasn’t surprised to see tears welling in his eyes, and an expression that showed he was barely holding it together. All choked up and barely holding back the floodgates of emotion.</p>
<p>And then he thought about the kid’s words. And how he didn’t know how to answer his question. Because this was something he struggled with too. Because this was how he felt about Kreese. Because he had the same questions running through his head all the time. Because how could he forgive someone like that?</p>
<p>Johnny remembered Bobby then. How he called him in a drunken stupor a few days after everything went down. How he yelled at his friend, how he confessed about how everything went wrong because he let Kreese back into his life, about how upset he was at himself for forgiving someone who didn’t appreciate his forgiveness, someone who spat in his face while he was down.</p>
<p>And then he remembered what Bobby told him. How he said forgiveness helped <em>him</em>—Johnny Lawrence—become a better person. How it helped him know what was right even though Kreese came out on top in the end, even though he stole his dojo and his students from him.</p>
<p>Then the conversation they had in the church came back to him. The one they had after Robby had been sent to juvie, after Miguel screamed at him to leave. And Johnny couldn’t forget the way they talked about religion and hard times in a way that made him feel comfortable. In a way he understood.</p>
<p>
  <em>You don’t do the right thing because it always works out, you do the right thing because it’s the right thing to do. </em>
</p>
<p>“Miguel.” Johnny finally said, looking his student straight in the eyes. “A very wise friend of mine once told me that forgiveness isn’t for the person who wronged you, it’s for yourself. So you can move past the hurt you feel over what happened to you.”</p>
<p>Johnny paused then, studying Miguel’s face as he took in his words. And when the kid wrinkled his brow in confusion, Johnny continued.</p>
<p>“And in my life, if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that you can put all this time and effort into forgiving someone, but they might not accept that forgiveness. They might just say <em>fuck you</em>, give you the middle finger, and keep going on the way they were before. So you have to do it for yourself, okay?”</p>
<p>Miguel nodded, blinking back tears and averting his gaze away from Johnny.</p>
<p>“And if you feel like forgiving Robby will help you, then you should try to do it. But you don’t have to if you don’t think that’s the right path for you.”</p>
<p>“But…but how will I know if that’s the right path?” Miguel asked, looking back up at him, voice hesitant and small.   </p>
<p>Johnny sighed. He didn’t have the answer to that. Just like so many things these days.</p>
<p>Maybe he could ask Bobby.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, kid. But I do know that it doesn’t hurt to try. And if it’s any help, forgiveness isn’t something that can happen overnight. It’s a process. And you might never get to the end of that process and that’s okay.”</p>
<p>Miguel was quiet then, and Johnny could tell he was thinking over everything he said. Letting the words roll around in his mind until he processed them.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Sensei.” He finally said, a look full of relief on his face. “I—just—thank you.”</p>
<p>Johnny smiled. “No problem, buddy.”</p>
<p>And it really wasn’t a problem. Because he did it. He succeeded. He got Miguel to open up. And hopefully, hopefully the kid would have better days ahead. Days where he didn’t take pills to numb his mind. Days where he could make more progress with his physical therapy. Days where the smiles came frequently, naturally and openly.</p>
<p>Because Miguel was a good kid. Better than he could ever hope to be. And no matter what happened, no matter if the kid ended up spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair or not, at least he had the satisfaction of knowing he would always be his teacher. Of knowing he would always be by his side.</p>
<p>No matter what.</p>
<p>Through thick and thin.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes, naming Miguel’s homebound teacher “Julie” was 100% intentional. Leaving her last name unsaid was also 100% intentional. Y’all can decide to take that information in whatever way you please. ;) ;)<br/>--<br/>EDIT/ADDITION: I realized there are so many missing moments from season 3 that I want to explore. This fic is therefore now part of a series. There should be a link at the bottom of this page if you want to check out the page for the series. It’s an ongoing thing, and I will continue to add works to it until I’ve written all the missing moments fic ideas I have planned. Each work will stand on its own, and they don’t need to be read in any specific order either. It’s basically just a way for me to organize fics with a common theme.<br/>--<br/>This fic was so cathartic for me to write. So much of what Miguel deals with here is based off my personal experiences of going through something very traumatic and almost dying when I was around his age. Because of my experiences, I wanted to add some realism to Miguel’s story. I wanted to flesh it out and dive a little deeper than what the show gave us. I hope I was able to accomplish that. </p>
<p>Miguel’s whole arc in season 3 hit very close to home for me (in a good way) and it touched me deeply. 7 to 10 years ago, I don’t know if I would have been able to sit through some of the more emotionally charged scenes (such as the one where Miguel breaks down and screams at Johnny, that one got me good). But watching these scenes in 2021 was just amazing and touching. I felt represented in a way I’ve never felt before. </p>
<p>TL;DR: This work came from the deepest parts of my soul, and it was such a joy to write. I hope it was just as enjoyable to read. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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